There was a time when I’d have found a way to slip behind the ficus
and ask for forgiveness.
But she kept telling me to stop asking,
dress if I need to, but do the doing.
Move into the moving.
Still, I went on dreaming the dreams of an enslaved mind.
Today I made my way through it.
I skipped the dressing,
wore skin pants and a wink
and felt like there was nothing in the world to be sorry for.
Washed the laundry,
swept the kitchen,
danced topless and poorly
but in a deluge of joy.
This is goodness too.
Modesty is suddenly an oppressive bitch.
Hark, oh daughters of the world!
Know that it is wholesome to celebrate
for no other reason than to feel celebrated.
Sometimes we are the ones in charge of that.
Yes.
We are the ones in charge.
Might I remind you that the world needs to come alive?
Might I remind you that the world is you?
